What Tomorrow Brings
by Alex E. Andras
Summary: And as I get into the car I wish bitterly that it could have protected Sam from whoever has stolen my son.' John P.O.V. A six-year-old Sam Winchester is MIA, can he be found or will the family break apart?
1. Chapter 1

Summary: 'And as I get into the car I wish bitterly that it could have protected Sam from whoever has stolen my son.' John P.O.V. A six-year-old Sam Winchester is MIA, can he be found or will the family break apart?

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters and I don't own the show. Everything is written for pleasure, not profit.

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What Tomorrow Brings

There's a commotion on the drive, and I lower my pen as the front door slams open. The smile slips as I hear no cheerful chatter from the hall, and I turn my head as Dean runs into the kitchen

"I've lost him Dad!" he gasps, his chest heaving with excursion, his face red, as though he has run the whole way.

"Where's Sam?" I ask, realising my youngest hasn't appeared, a hollow feeling begins in my stomach, and grows at Dean's next words.

"I can't find him."

"Dean," I start, and then pause, schooling myself into calm, there is no point in getting angry with the child, it'll be harder to get information out of him if he is upset "How did you lose him."

And so my son tells me. Explains how he had been kept behind after class today, how he had run straight for Sam's school as soon as he was let go, and how his brother hadn't been waiting for him on the school steps as he always was.

"And I told him he was to wait until you or I got there, really I did dad!" he finished tearfully, and I rose, crossing over to him and pulling him into a hug. His body is shaking in fear, and I kiss the top of his head.

"Drop your bag," I order him kindly, rising and grabbing the car keys from the table "We'll go find him."

It is a silent car trip, Dean still shaking with barely repressed emotion, and me trying not to show any anger that may set my son off. We drive slowly, both of our eyes more on the sidewalks than on the road, encase Sam has got bored and is walking home, and Dean had just missed him back at the school, and neither of us voice our disappointment that we don't come across him. Dean all but falls from the car in his rush to get out of it once we park, and leads me down the cheerful halls to Sam's classroom, and I try to swallow the prang of guilt that I don't even know where the room is, wasn't even there to prevent Sam becoming missing.

The teacher looks up, startled, when Dean and I enter, and blinks at me for a moment before looking to Dean.

"Dean," she says, confusion evident in her voice, perhaps wondering about this little visit "And you must be Samuel's father." She rises, as though to come and shake my hand, and then notes the looks on our faces, and stops.

"Is anything the matter?"

"Where's Sammy?" Dean manages, though his voice is shaking now, and I lay a hand on his shoulder, wondering if he'd find the courage to hit the woman before us.

"But, he went home," the woman is obviously confused, and now I muse if I should let Dean hit her.

"Sam knows not to leave until Dean or I pick him up," I explain, my voice calmer than I feel, "Where is he?"

"But he was picked up," she replies, nervously looking at me, refusing to even glance at the angry child at my side, "A gentleman came and said that you'd asked him to pick up Samuel, that you and your eldest were both indisposed of for the time." She is paling, perhaps realising only now that she has made the biggest mistake of her life.

"This man," I say sharply, perhaps I could hit her before Dean, who is now trembling, did "What's he look like."

"Tall," she replies straight away, and then falters, trying to bring forth a picture of a man she obviously did not study "Dark hair, a beard, and a long dark coat." I sigh, biting back a curse, this information is hardly anything to go by, and I turn my hand, steering Dean towards the door.

"I thought he was a friend of yours," the teacher says quietly, and we both whirl, and Dean beats me to a reply

"We've been here three weeks, lady," he hisses "Hardly enough time to trust anyone to take my brother home!" and he sprints from the room, and I follow him more slowly, barely hearing the woman making garbled apologies to our backs. I call to my son, who is stood frozen in the hall, and for a minute I think he has seen something, but Dean is only waiting and as soon as the door swings closed, cutting off the woman's frantic apologies he springs forwards, punching the door opposite his brother's class whilst letting lose a string of curses I know he's learnt from me.

I let him vent, walking down the corridor towards the entrance doors as he follows, still cursing, and we both pause once we step into the sun.

"I'm sorry, Dad," he whispers suddenly, and I look down into a face brimming with tears, and I know that he blames himself, and I know there's nothing I can say that will make him change this opinion.

"We'll find him," I promise, and then I lead him to the car, explaining as we go that we'll go back to the house, to see if Sam has been brought home, and if not we'll call in some help, and we'll find him.

We won't stop - neither of us will stop - until Sammy is back.

x

There's a trio of police cars outside of the house when we arrive there, and I automatically tense, and we both exit the car slowly, and I warily eye the two walking to meet us.

They introduce themselves to be detectives Harper and Wright, and the other four behind them are just general officers. I begrudgingly let them into the house, watch Dean and he shoots upstairs for a minute, garbling something about needing the bathroom when I know he's really just gone to hide the case of guns sat in my room, and I show the six cops into the kitchen, gather together all of my work on the table and explain to their curious glances that it's all research for a book I'm writing.

The kettle is boiling and Dean has returned by the time the Detective Harper speaks. She is young, perhaps only just a detective, and perhaps this is her first case as one, for she seems nervous and enthused, and I stand staring at her with my boy clutching my sleeve.

Harper asks what I've been doing all day, how old my youngest is, what he is wearing, how long he's been missing for, and I answer all of her questions stoically, whilst my heart hammers within my chest. I hesitate only once, when she questions on Sam's clothes, and it is Dean who jumps to my rescue, stating that I'd dressed my son in denim dungarees, a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles t-shirt and a black sweater. He adds the fact that Sam has a Thundercats backpack, and I bite back a chuckle as they tell us that it'll probably turn up first, for although this is so very serious, that bag is falling apart, and I know from experience that trying to get my son to part with it is impossible.

"Is there anyone who could have a grudge against you, Mr Winchester? Someone who may have taken your son because of this grudge?" she asks

Wright leans forwards as I answer the negative – for I can't think of anyone who'd hold a grudge beyond those that I hunt, and I can't see them kidnapping Sam unless it's a demon, though there's been no activity in the area to suggest so - steeping his fingers as he stares hard at me and Dean.

"What about your wife, Mr Winchester?" he asks, his voice gravely and low "Is she aware of anyone who could have taken your son?" I feel Dean tense at my side, and wrap my arm around his shoulder as I shake my head.

"No," I manage to say "My wife. Mary died when Sam was six months old." Wright nods, and Harper looks sympathetically at me.

The rest of their questions either Dean or I answer, and finally they ask if they can look around the house, and for a recent photograph of Sam. I concede to both, and hand them over the photo of my boys on Dean's tenth birthday, both perched on the car and Sam wearing that same Turtles t-shirt he's missing in as I watch Dean's eyes dart to where part of the floorboards can be lifted in my room, where he has hidden the gun case.

They all leave eventually, promising to get in touch if they receive any information on Sam, telling me to call them if I see or hear anything suspicious. It has been four hours since they arrived, and Dean is still clutching to me tightly, the adrenaline that had him so edgy earlier gone and replaced with exhaustion, and I manage to lead him upstairs and put him to bed. It is only then, after I have made myself a coffee and am left to pace and worry on where my baby boy is that I realise that I cannot do this on my own, I cannot watch over Dean and look for Sam at the same time, and soon I have made several calls, and both Bobby and Jim are on their way, with Caleb promising to get here as soon as he's done with a hunt. And again I move to pacing, for it will be at least four hours until Bobby arrives, more until Jim gets here, and I cannot leave the house and my sleeping son alone.

x

It is close to midnight when I hear a truck on the drive, and I open the door before Bobby has had chance to knock. He nods at me, returning to the truck to gather his weapons cache, and pulls open the side door. The huge slobbering beast of a dog lumbers out, and for once I am glad to see it; my sons are attached to that beast, and though I dislike it, worry of the damage those jaws can do to my boys, I know Dean will take comfort in having the dog beside him whilst we find Sam. The dog seems to understand this, for it barely gives me a passing sniff before entering the house, and I hear it lumber its way upstairs, to where my son lies sleeping.

Bobby raises his eyebrows in apology, but I merely shake my head, and lead him into the kitchen, throw away my cold coffee and brew up some more, and explain everything that's happened today. It seems longer, but with Bobby around I calm, and realise that its still the day that Sam went missing, though nine hours have past.

Nine hours my son has been lost and scared.


	2. Chapter 2

A.N: Second lot of corrections have been made to this chapter. Hopefully reads better (again) now.

2

I wake Dean early the next morning, hustle him into the bathroom and tell him that breakfast is on the table. I go downstairs, nod tiredly to Bobby where he stands in front of the stove, and lunge gratefully for the full coffee pot. I found no sleep during the night, instead spent it pacing my room, worrying over Sam. Bobby slides three plates of eggs onto the table as Dean enters, and I raise an eyebrow at my eldest still in his pyjamas as he sits and pushes his eggs across the plate.

I watch him for a few minutes, and then reach over and tap the table, pulling his attention to me, and then I gently remind him he's got school today.

The look he gives me clearly states that he thinks I'm nothing short of crazy, but I merely stare him down, and he sulks off to get changed.

His breakfast has remained untouched, and I sigh and pick at my own plate. The dog leaps onto Dean's chair, hoovering up the eggs before Bobby or myself can stop it, and I push my plate away from the dog before it can eat what I can't.

"Am I doing the right thing?" I ask, and Bobby assures me that I am, that Dean needs to try and keep his mind off this, and sending him to school is probably the best way to do that. I nod as Dean re-enters the room despondently, puts on his sneakers, and says a quiet good-bye to Bobby as I lead him out the back door. The car journey to the school is silent, and both of us are again paying more attention to the sidewalks than the road; hoping to see Sammy along the way. I promise to pick Dean up at lunch, not wanting my eldest out of my sight for too long, and he nods, walks dejectedly into the school building, and I hope that we've found Sammy by the time I return to pick him up.

Pastor Jim has arrived by the time I get back, and we are soon stood around the kitchen table, each of us armed with a steaming mug of coffee, all of us staring at a map of the general area, as though we can will it to tell us where Sam is.

The best places to start looking, Jim tells me, are the houses around the park and the school. I understand this to be the perfect world of child predators, and it is possible that some observant person living close to either of these places has seen something. We are checking the rounds in our guns when I pause, glance between the door and the phone, and Jim must notice my indecision, as he puts a hand on my shoulder, tells me he will stay here, he will wait for a phone call whilst Bobby and I search, and I nod thankfully, and we - Bobby, his dog and I - all leave the house.

No one is home in the houses opposite the school, or they are just simply not answering, and so I turn my sights to the grounds of the school building. I have been searching for nearly two hours when my cell rings, and I fumble for it for a moment before I am able to answer.

It is Jim, and for a moment I feel a surge of excitement, maybe the police have found my son, but that is quelled immediately when Jim tells me Dean's school has called. My eldest has done something, though they won't disclose this information with the Pastor, but they want him picked up. Jim offers to go, so that I can continue to search for Sam, but I decline his offer. I wasn't there to pick up my youngest, but I will be there to pick up Dean.

I am trudging back to the car when something catches my eye, and I automatically bend to pick it up.

The small flat silver rectangle is something I recognise before I even flip it over, and when I do I recognise instantly the wadjat engraved there.

The eye of Horus, engraved onto a dog tag that my eldest gave his brother on the kid's first day of school. A symbol of protection my son never takes off.

And as I get into the car I wish bitterly that it could have protected Sam from whoever has stolen my son.

Dean is sat inside the Reception when I arrive, but doesn't raise his head even as I pause in front of him before entering the office.

He looks up, guilt plastered on his face when I emerge five minutes later, but I give him a reassuring smile and he follows me out of the building and to the car, and I tell him no explanations are needed when he opens his mouth.

We drive back to the house silently, though this time I am musing on the fact that my son was sent home for protecting his family, for hitting that other boy for speaking badly of Sam. If I'd been there and Sam had been spoken against whilst missing I dread to think of the consequences.

Pastor Jim meets us at the doorstep of the house, and I frown as Dean hugs him, knowing from that move alone that my son is terrified for his brother. Jim says something to Dean, and my boy nods and heads inside. Jim looks at me as I walk over, asks me quietly if I found anything, and I nod, holding out my hand, the silver rectangle lying in my palm, and I almost smirk as the Pastor growls, and I follow as he turns on his heel and re-enters the house, smile dryly as he lets loose a curse as we track towards the kitchen. Yet all the time I follow him quietly, eyes fixed on the metal in my hand, only look up when we arrive in the kitchen.

Jim has been busy, the map is still spread out on the table, and there is a small stack of papers on an empty chair. There is a plate of biscuits on the kitchen table beside the map, and Dean is sat there now, a biscuit in his hand, but his eyes are on the map.

He looks up when I sit down beside him, and he quickly looks back to the map, one finger tracing the path between the house and the school, the distance that he and Sammy travel five days a week, and again I feel the surge of guilt that I wasn't there to bring my youngest home.

I reach over, trap my son's hand under mine, bringing his attention to me as I promise again that we'll find his brother, and when he nods we both look over the map, and I point out the areas that both myself and Bobby are looking over, tell him what we'll look over if we have to, add that the police are also on look out for his brother.

I hear the front door open as I watch Dean again trace the walk home, hear a soft conversation within the hall, and when the dog paces into the kitchen I know that it is Bobby who has returned. Quietly I extract myself from the kitchen, give the seasoned hunter a questioning glance, and he gives a sorrowful shake of the head.

He has had no luck in finding anything of my son or the person who has kidnapped him.

I nod my acceptance, though my jaw is tightly shut, and then turn back into the kitchen, stopping just inside to watch my son, still tracing that same line on the map, still holding that first biscuit – untouched otherwise – in his hand.

I sigh, calling over to Dean, and when he looks up I tell him to grab his shoes and his coat. And as he goes to do so I find Jim and Bobby, tell them that I'm taking my boy out, and at Bobby's insistence, catch up the dog and its lead.

Dean is quiet as we stroll from the house and down the street. The park stands down a street about half-way between the house and the school, and it is there we head, the dog pulling happily at the lead and Dean is alert throughout, his eyes going from one side of the street to the other, his body tensing and jumping at every small sound, and I know he's seeking out his brother.

We don't head to the children's playground when we reach the park, instead I let the dog off the lead and watch it lope off across the ground as Dean and I walk around the edge. My son is still silent, his hands deep in his pockets, looking sullen to any observer who does not know him, does not know that he's anxious.

I slip an arm around his shoulders, give one a tight squeeze, draw him closer to my side, and he leans into my side, murmuring that he misses Sam, wants his brother back here with him. And all I can do is agree with his words.

We stay only twenty minutes before we head home, and I feel Dean tense at my side as we round the corner to our street.

I see immediately what does this. A police car outside the house that sets my stomach lurching, and we both quicken our paces to reach the house.

The dog bounds to the kitchen as soon as it's released from the lead, and we follow at its heels, and my heart stops to see the two detectives sat at the cleared table with Bobby and Jim. Sam is nowhere in sight, and that's all I need to see to know that they haven't found Sam.

"John," Jim greets quietly, and the detectives nod quietly. Harper looks at me sympathetically, and then I my eyes go to what is within the sealed plastic on the table.

The air leaves my lungs when I recognise the battered Thundercats backpack there.

Dean gives a quiet wail at my side, and I remember then that he's there, and without thinking I bend and pick him up, clutch him tightly to myself as he wraps his arms around my neck and unintentionally tries to strangle me.

"Your brother tells me that this is definitely your son's bag," Wright said seriously, and I don't even glance to Bobby as I nod, agreeing with the observation.

"We found it a mile from the park," Harper explained "We have people searching the area for anything suspicious, but it's likely that the bag was tossed purposely there." I nod again, not trusting my voice, and my collar is growing damp, Dean is crying.

Harper explains a few more things, assures me they're doing everything they can to find my son, and then the pair show themselves out. The kitchen is quiet after they've gone, and I find my way to a chair and sink into it, still clutching my eldest.

The evening passes in silence, Dean continues to cling to me and so I allow him to sleep in my room for the night.

I stare at the dark ceiling as I listen to his soft breaths. I find no sleep this night.

At dawn I get up, leaving my son to sleep as I shower and dress, and then head downstairs. Bobby is already awake and sat at the kitchen table, and nods quietly to me over one of his huge books as I meet his gaze levelly, knock back a cup of steaming coffee and explain that Dean is still sleeping. Bobby nods again, and I can feel his gaze on me as I call the dog over, grab up its lead and take it outside.

I walk to the park automatically, my mind elsewhere as I let the dog off the lead to run across the grass, and I walk around the edges of the park as I wonder about my sons, our job, this life.

A throaty bark makes me look up, and I smirk when I see that Bobby's dog is barking at an animal the other side of the park fence. A sniffer dog judging by the woman holding the leash, and the animal is completely ignorant of the barking, instead focused on the job, and then raises its head as I come closer, growling and straining at the leash.

It takes me a moment to realise why, and I quickly explain to the girl that it's my son that they're looking for, and that's why the animal can smell the boy on me. She is hesitant for a moment, but soon nods, and allows me to drag Bobby's excited mutt away.

We complete the park circuit soon afterwards, and trek back to the house. I am hardly through the door before Dean is latched to my side, staring at me wide-eyed and clutching a ragged bear that was once his before Sam's, one I was sure we'd thrown out or lost several hunts previously.

Jim greets me warmly as I enter the kitchen, makes up another mug of coffee and a plate of eggs as he gently chides Dean to finish his cereal. My eldest moves quietly to his seat only after I've sat down myself, and merely pokes despondently at his full bowl. I watch him carefully as I start on my own breakfast; know that Jim is also watching him fretfully as he sits down opposite me, explains that Bobby has gone to get some more food and supplies for the long haul. It is always better to be safe, even when I want to shout that we'll find Sam quickly, and then we'll put the town behind us immediately.

I watch Dean push at his soggy breakfast for a few more moments before I take the bowl from him, coax him into taking a few sips of his milk, and then ask if he wants to watch some cartoons. He will not be going back to school again until we find Sam.

Bobby returns half an hour after I've settled on the couch with Dean, watching reruns of Thundercats, and the older hunter hands Dean a packet of cookies before setting a bag at my feet, glancing to my son. There is a Thundercats bag inside, a present for Sam when we find him. To replace the one falling apart even though I told him that we don't have enough money for one. I smile, and push the bag back to him; it needs to be kept safe and hidden for now, seeing it will only upset Dean.

Bobby takes the rest of the shopping to the kitchen, and I hear him speak lowly to Jim as the doorbell rings, and I rise and hover in the doorway as Jim answers it.

A cheerful, smiling young woman stands at the door, and I only need to glance at the microphone and camera equipment to know what she wants, and I don't even listen as she explains to Jim that they want to cover my sons disappearance.

I step into the hall, my mouth open to tell her that I don't want the attention on my son, when she adds that this could help us, that the coverage could bring out people who have seen my son, and I nod jerkily when I feel a tug on my shirt, and know that Dean is behind me, hidden from the woman, but listening to the conversation.

It takes three hours; a number of questions and several takes for the woman and her crew to leave, and once they have gone I knock back two coffees and coax Dean into eating half of the sandwich Jim has made him before I grab his coat and mine.

The pair of us spent the rest of the day wandering the streets of the town, searching for signs of Sam. Dean has not spoken to me the entire time.


	3. Chapter 3

3

I wake up in the night to the wind howling and rain lashing the windows, and for a moment I wonder if this is why I have woken, and then the growl of thunder echoes in the room, and I understand.

There is no small, quaking form at my side, begging quietly for a refuge whilst trying to be brave and not wake up his brother.

The door creaks open at this thought, and for a moment I believe I will see him there, though it is only Dean; wide-eyed and pale, holding Sam's bear in one hand like he is the small child who suffers on these nights.

"Sammy hates storms," he states miserably as I sit up, and I hold my arms out, letting Dean run over to be engulfed in a hug.

"We'll find him," I promise as lightning brightens the room, and I mean it completely, for I won't allow Sam to be kept from me, from us, as it is killing Dean more than me, this separation.

"He's gonna be terrified, Dad," Dean whispers, and I tremble, hoping Dean doesn't feel it over his own tremors; he needs me to be brave, but all I can see is Sam screaming for someone to help him through this storm.

And so I repeat my promise, push down my anger until I can better use it, and then settle Dean beside me, holding him close until he falls asleep.

There is a soft footfall outside the room, and I look up to see Jim there, and silently I convey my thoughts and he nods his agreement.

No matter what, we must get Sam back. If not for me, then for Dean.

The storm pounds on throughout the night, and I soon find it impossible to sleep, every time my eyes close I see my son, so desperate for us to find him that I have to open my eyes again, and still I see my baby's frightened face.

Dean shifts as I rise, but quietens quickly, and I leave him to sleep through his worries.

Jim and Bobby are both awake, and they turn to me as I enter the kitchen. Bobby, on his mobile, acknowledges me with searching eyes and a nod whilst Jim rises and busies himself at the kettle. I lower myself into a seat, bury my face in my hands, and tense at the hand on my shoulder as Bobby puts down the phone.

"Caleb will be here by midday," he tells me, and I nod, hear the dull click of a mug on the table, and I emerge from behind my hands, ignore the worried looks, latch my hands around the mug, breathing in the rich scent of coffee.

"This is killing him," I murmur, meaning my eldest, even though he is speaking again, I don't know how long it will last, and he is paling; each day that Sam is lost he pales, sickens further.

Jim sighs as he sits, and nods, and suddenly my anger surges and boils over, and I slam a hand on the table. The coffee jumps and spills, but I pay no attention to the scald as I murmur my hate; towards the police I see as useless, towards the filth that has kidnapped my baby boy, towards the uselessness I feel, sat here when I should be out searching, and mostly towards the fact that we, three hunters who can track down any supernatural being cannot track down my son and his captor.

Bobby and Jim sit silent as I rave, and then Bobby pulls the coffee mug from my grasp and Jim leans over, hands on both my shoulders, eyes boring into my face.

"We'll find him, John," he assures me, his eyes telling me that he fully believes this "We'll have Sam back in this house soon."

How much I'd like to believe him.

I rise then; not wanting to be sat with them and their sorry gazes, and not wanting to go outside I walk into the living room, drop onto the couch and switch on the TV.

The news jumps out at me immediately, and it is only three minutes after I turn the set on that my baby's story is aired, and I watch in stoic silence as they play through the events.

It is only when they move onto the next story – a possible wolf attack just outside town – that I cracked, my face sinking into my hands as I cried.

I know that the storm has washed away any tracks and scents. I know that I have lost my son.

x

We let Dean sleep. And I hear him moving upstairs at the same time that I hear a car pull up in the drive, and it only takes a glance at the battered blue Camaro to know that Caleb has arrived.

I open the front door as the young man walks up to the house, and step aside to let him in. Caleb nods his head, and then makes a comment that makes me smirk before he walks upstairs. There is a minute before I hear him greet my son, and then I walk back into the kitchen. The room is surprisingly empty, a note by the coffee pot telling me that Bobby and Jim have gone looking again, and that I'm not to kill Caleb, or let the young man goad me into a knife fight, and I grin and pour two mugs of coffee and a glass of juice.

Dean is quiet when they both enter the kitchen, and gives me a tearful smile. He is still clutching that bear, a comfort against his missing brother, and he sits at the table, drinking only a little of the juice and then sitting quiet as Caleb and I talk.

We both still, fall silent, when Dean rises and leaves the table, I watch him as he walks from the room, move to rise and follow until I hear the television turn on, and I settle back down, clutch at the mug before me so tightly the handle breaks off.

"It's eating at him, isn't it?" Caleb asks, and I nod simply, explain that I know that Dean believes it's his fault, that because Dean had been kept behind at school that day he only sees that he has failed his brother.

Caleb is silent for a moment, and then nods and excuses himself to speak to Dean, and as he leaves I remember that this is hitting Caleb deeply. That the young hunter was thirteen when his own brother was kidnapped, that it had been too late when the boy had been found.

I pray that Dean doesn't have to go through the same grief.

x

It has been nearly two weeks since Sammy was kidnapped, the news reports that had originally come thick and fast are dwindling now, come to the same conclusive ends of no leads, no evidence.

Two weeks since we've last seen Sam.

Dean is pale and drawn, on the verge of sickness, needing to be forced to eat, to sleep. To live. He clings to us now more than ever, generally attached to either me or Caleb, who is becoming more withdrawn himself; perhaps reliving those days that Liam was missing.

I have not been able to look at myself for a week. Have not slept more than two hours each night; have eaten as little as Dean.

I have lost my son, Mary's baby, and it is killing each of us.


	4. Chapter 4

4

Caleb is watching the news when I enter the lounge from a fitful night, and I stand in the door, listen to the brief report on my son – no leads, no evidence, the number to call if anyone has information – and then the report switched to another, another suspected wolf attack just outside the town.

I raise my head, sensing Caleb looking at me, and not tearing my eyes from the television I nod

"Adlet."

Caleb says nothing, just returns his attention to the set as I slip away from the room.

I move around the house restlessly, and then go to the boy's room. Dean is sprawled out across Sam's bed, clutching that tattered bear to his chest, and I see the lines of tear stains, evidence my child has cried himself to sleep, and I sit down on Dean's bed, watch my son sleep.

It is not long until he stirs and wakens, and for a moment just looks at me before he rises and scrambles from the one bed to the other, and I draw him into my arms, hold him tightly as he curls into my grasp.

Bobby finds us like this an hour later, both curled up on Dean's bed, and I turn my gaze from Sam's empty bed to my friend.

"Breakfast," he says simply, and then holds his hand out to my son "Come on Dean, Caleb made pancakes." I see the briefest flicker of a smile – that does not reach his eyes – fly across Dean's face as he scrambles from my arms and latches onto Bobby's, and then he turns and stares wide-eyed back at me.

I give him a smile, wave my hand to indicate that he should go on ahead and he lets Bobby take him downstairs.

I sit in the room for five more minutes, staring at Sam's empty bed, wonder how long it'll be until it is occupied by my youngest again, and then I hear Dean's excited scream, Caleb's raucous shouts over the barks of the dog, and I get off the bed, take a glance around the room and then go downstairs.

They are all crowded around the dining table when I arrive in the kitchen, and the dog pushes its large head against my knees as I step across the room. Dean is sat in the far corner with a hardly touched plate, and he immediately comes to my side as soon as he sights me. I take his hand, settle him on my knees when I take his seat, and start feeding him myself.

Bobby has the map spread out before him; a red marker in one hand as he marks off places on the map that have been searched, places my youngest is not. Jim is on the phone, talking quietly to someone and watching Dean eat carefully. Caleb is hidden behind several large books, another propped open against them, writing busily in a tattered journal that I recognise to be his hunt book, but I don't question it yet.

X

Three days pass since that news report. Three more days of inconclusive police reports. The reports are getting shorter, time between each longer, and I realise with anger that other people are giving up on my son.

I leave Dean in a tangle on my bed one morning, swipe a wavering hand over the hair on my chin as I go down the stairs, and knock back a mug of strong coffee as soon as it is handed to me. The map sits on the kitchen table still; the red marks cover most of the surface. We have yet to give up on my son.

I cannot bring myself to sit at the table with the map and Bobby and the depressing red marker pen, and instead I migrate into the living room, taking in the news report – another wolf attack – and the books that litter the floor.

My head snaps around as a car boot slams, and I stalk into the hall to meet Caleb as he walks back into the house, and before the younger man can register anything I pull my fist back and slam it into his face.

My unpredicted attack hits him with enough power to throw Caleb into the wall with enough force to shake the walls, and he merely looks at me, blood dripping from his face.

"How could you?" I quaver, so angry my voice barely above a whisper "How can you hunt when Sammy is missing?"

"John," he starts "People are dying everyday. This thing needs to be stopped now." I lunge, feel hands wrap around my arms, restraining me from my attack.

"You bastard," I hiss, "My son is missing and you'd rather hunt than rescue him!"

"What if we don't find him John?" Caleb asks, not unkindly, but the question still boils my blood "You will need to prepare Dean encase we don't find…"

"Don't you dare say it!" I shout, wrenching free of the grasp and landing another punch on Caleb's face "Don't even think about us not finding Sam! Get out of my house!"

A cry stops our argument any further, and Dean runs down the stairs, wrapping hands around Caleb's arm, eyes pleading me to take it back, and I hope that he has not heard anything other than the last sentence.

"Sorry kid," Caleb murmurs, disentangling Dean from him "Your father's orders." He starts to move from the hall, and I lunge and grab Dean, prevent him from running after the young man.

We all stand quietly in the hall after Caleb leaves, my arms still wrapped around my son until he stops fighting, and I release him. He turns immediately into my grasp, and I hold him tightly, looking from Jim to Bobby as I do the best I can to comfort my son.

After his tears have stopped, I offer him the chance to go to the park, and he grabs his shoes as Bobby calls up the dog, telling me that he's coming. His voice offers no chance for argument, and I know he wants to talk to me, so I nod, putting on my own coat as Dean hovers by the door, and we make for the park.

The dog is let off its leash as soon as we get to the grass, and Dean sprints after it as it dashes off – a brief respite from his grief – and I track him with my eyes for a minute before I decide he's safe, and then I bark to Bobby to talk.

He sighs first, apparently uncomfortable with what he wants to say, and I watch as his eyes travel in the direction of the dog and Dean

"John," he starts, pausing and closing his eyes against what he says next "You do know that we might not find him, yeah?" I nod, jaw tight as I trust myself not to speak, my knuckles creaking as I fist my hand, but I won't hit him. He is only speaking the truth, speaking what had been on all of our minds.

"And I know that it's hard for us to accept, but Caleb was right," he looks at me now, and I feel a surge of guilt at having hit the kid "You need to make Dean realise that he might not get Sammy back."

There is a loud long scream that breaks the silence that falls between us, and it takes me several moments to recognise it, realise that it's that of my eldest son, a scream I haven't heard in so long, not since a hunt went awry and the ghost I'd been hunting got at the boys in the car. My head immediately snapping up and around, and it takes only moments before I find Dean, struggling against a hand that grips his arm, kicking desperately at the tall man who holds him, cursing wildly and fluidly as the dog barks angrily. I'm running even before the shout is leaving my mouth, before I even reach to grab at my gun, and I curse as I realise it's useless, there is no way I can try to get a shot at this man without the possibility of hitting Dean.

I shout again, now only ten feet away from my son, and the man's head snaps up and around, and I am close enough to see the panicked look in his eyes, and the pained shift of his expression as Dean lands a hard kick on his shin before he releases Dean's arm and spins, sprinting away just as I reach Dean, and I grab my son up into my arms, holding him tightly.

"Dad!" he shouts, hugging me tightly, and I let him, closing my eyes for a moment as I feel his shaking body calm, and once the tremors have lessened he pulls away, looking at me in terror.

"Dad, what if he has Sammy!" he says, and as soon as he has voiced that thought it is flying through my mind, and I raise my head, finding that he is still running, a good distance from us now, but close enough that I can still see him, and if I can see him then I can chase him.

I let go of Dean, check that my gun is still on me as Bobby runs over, and then I turn my head to my friend, watch as he lays a gentle hand on my son, and I know my eldest will be safe with him.

"Look after him," I say "Get Dean back to the house and stay with him." And then I am off, running after the man who almost took my eldest, the man who possibly has my Sammy, ignoring the shouts, the pleas from Dean as I run after the man.

It's difficult to catch up at first, but then he slows, thinking that no one would follow for this long, would stay and comfort the kid instead, and I do my best to blend with the pedestrians as I follow him.

He leads me to a quiet housing estate, and I duck behind a bush when he pauses at the door and looks around, and a soft smile creeps onto my face as he goes inside. I do not doubt that he has my youngest somewhere, and I soon I will go in for Sammy.

I wait until night before entering the house, though during the day I venture out to scope the place out. Although the man I followed, Sam's kidnapper, has not left the house, it is dark and quiet. The only lights that are on are in the kitchen, but that is completely empty, as are the other rooms as I search them.

I move back into the kitchen, quietly cursing myself and this kidnapping bastard, and decide that I should wait here to get my answers, for it is obvious that the man has slipped out at some point during my watch.

A sudden noise has me pulling my gun into my hands, and I am listening even as I cock it. The sounds are coming from upstairs, the soft creak that could be the house settling, but have the persistence of footsteps, and I frown as I leave the kitchen and walk back through the house, because I know that the upstairs rooms are empty.

The sounds cease as I walk up the stairs and do a second search of the bedrooms. Again finding nothing. I am about to leave the master bedroom when the footsteps start up again, and I frown as I realise that they are coming from above me.

A search of one of the smaller bedrooms reveals a set of narrow stairs hidden within a closet, and I follow them up, pausing at the door at the top, listening.

There's the sound of whispered speech, a small whimper, and the sound of flesh hitting flesh, and I slam the door open, gun going up as I take in the room.

A man looks up, startled, and I recognise him as the man I followed here, the man who tried to take Dean. The man who took Sam.

He recognises me too, a panicked flicker running through his eyes before he sneers, grabbing at something beside him and tugs out a knife.

The weapon is bought around to an unprotected throat, and familiar eyes stare out at me.

"Daddy!" the call drags a sob from my throat before I can prevent it, but I hold the gun steady on the man who holds my son at knifepoint.

"Don't worry Sammy," I call back to him, never taking my eyes off the man sneering back "I'm going to take you home now." A growl and the knife threaten my son not to answer me, but I can feel his gaze on me. Begging me get him out of here.

"Let my son go," I hiss, and the man swears his reply, pulls the knife closer to Sam's neck, until I am holding my breath, and Sammy does to, because any move could result in the knife cutting his neck.

"Give him back you bastard," I growl, and Sammy shifts, biting into the hand clutching the knife, causing the man to bark obscenities and release Sam, and as my boy scuttles away I squeeze the trigger.


	5. Chapter 5

5

The room rings with the echoes of the gunshot, and then rings with silence. And I stand frozen, chest heaving as I push down all of my anger, slowly lowering my hands, schooling my expression.

"Daddy!" a strangled cry, and I barely have time to drop my gun before a small force has slammed into my legs, and I automatically bend, and then wrap my arms around the warm body that is sobbing into my shirt, and as I clutch my youngest to my chest I sob too.

We leave the attic soon after, Sammy's head pressed into my shoulder to spare him the sight of his dead captor, and though I am tempted to show my anger to the man, I do nothing. I will have to go back to salt and burn the bones, and I'd rather not give the man anymore of a reason to come after me.

I wonder for a moment, as we are leaving the house, how I would get us home, because I was not going to release my baby for even a moment, and we are some distance from our own home, too far to walk with Sammy clutched around my neck. A shout answers my question, and I raise my head to see the Impala; Bobby is sat in the front, a smile breaking onto his face as he sees Sam clutched in my arms, and the shout comes again as the side door to the car is thrown open, and Dean almost topples out before sprinting across the road to us, and I crouch, and let my eldest engulf me and his newly found brother in a hug.

We stay like this for a minute or so, and then Dean pulls away, though grasps my shirt tightly, and we walk to the car, and Bobby's smile widens when I smile at him, and I hustle Dean into the back of the car before climbing in beside him, and I allow Bobby to drive us home, my eyes closed as I just sit, taking in the smell of my baby, marvelling in the movements of his chest as he breaths - something I'd never really thought about, and just appreciating the fact that both of my sons are at my side.

x

I start at a touch on my arm, and almost break Bobby's wrist before I realise that it's him, and we are at the house. Dean is asleep at my side, and without prompting Bobby moves to pick up my eldest, leaving me to carry Sammy into the house. We both trek upstairs, and I hear Bobby mumble about putting Dean to bed as I carry Sammy into my bedroom, and I finally find the strength to release him from my grasp once I sit on the bed. My son, it seems, has other plans, for he whimpers his annoyance as I pull him away, and I smile when I realise, as I lay the child onto the covers of the bed, that he has a tight grasp on my shirt, and I do not doubt that he won't let go no matter how hard I try to make him, and so I remove the shirt, laying it beside Sam, who only draws it closer to him.

I take my time in looking at him, and then I realise that I should examine him more properly, for I don't doubt that some damage has been done in his time that he's been missing from home.

Slowly, so that I do not wake him, I carefully shift parts of his clothing, to try and create a picture of the injuries he has, for I have already taken note of the bruise on his cheek, and the scratches on his face and hands.

My son is in desperate need of a bath. But what stirs my anger the most, what makes me wish I could again kill the man who'd taken my son, is the obvious evident that my baby has been abused. He is thin, that much is obvious when I reveal his chest and am able to count clearly each rib there, and there is obvious evident that he has been beaten, a large bruise on his ribs that I am relieved is just that, and does not hide broken ribs, a welt at the small of his back, a bruise in the shape of a hand and fingers around his left wrist.

A cry makes me pause my examination as I raise his right arm, but Sammy is too exhausted to wake, and he merely shifts a little before quietening, and I examine the arm more closely, and let lose a small growl as I find a break there, just below his elbow, the area a swollen and bruised mass.

"Do we need to take him to hospital?" Bobby asks, suddenly at my shoulder, and I shiver as he places a pillow so I can rest Sam's arm on it. No one, not even a doctor is going to get my son away from me for some time.

I am examining Sam's legs when I see Bobby lay his hand on my son's forehead, and I raise my head, and watch him look at me and nod, telling me that Sam has a fever, and I close my eyes for a moment, for my son does not need to be sick on top of everything that is going on already.

Bobby sits on the edge of the bed then, takes my little boys hand and holds it as I pull out the first aid kit and tend to his scrapes. I pause once those have been tended, stare at his broken arm. I know that it needs to be fixed, but I loath to cause my son any more pain.

I move eventually, weighing up the choices and deciding causing Sam some pain is better than him being unable to use his hand because I was too afraid to do anything about his arm, and when I touch the bruised skin I freeze as my son whimpers and shifts.

Green eyes fix on me as soon as they are opened, and my son opens his mouth, but can only manage to voice a small mewl of pain before losing himself to unconsciousness again.

My mind is made up at that single moment. Sam needs a hospital. I loath now to cause him more pain, and he is obviously too weak to suffer under my uneducated medical advise.

Bobby is reading my mind, for he lets Sam's hand go, and helps me wrap the boy in a blanket. We walk silently past where Dean lies sleeping, and he pulls open the Impala door, lets me settle my youngest in the passenger seat before turning his head to look at me.

I tell him not to let Dean worry. That I'll phone when Dean can see Sam. And then I get in the car and drive off, constantly looking at the child beside me, as he stays unaware to the drama he is playing on us, the terror that still clutches at me even with him back at my side and safe.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I really want to apologise for the extremely slow update. I was going to put this chapter up the Friday after the last, but the ending needed desperate reworking and then I got sick.

Thank you though to everyone whose read this, especially if you've stuck with it and are still reading it, especially after my huge absence. There's only one more chapter left, and I promise it'll be posted by Wednesday.

6

A young nurse almost crashes into me as I enter the waiting room, and she looks at me for a moment, before recognition lights in her eyes and they are drawn to my boy in my arms, and she gives a gasp, and I am thankful now for media attention, as several doctors are soon surrounding us. One tries to take Sam from my arms, and I let loose a growl, letting them know that Sam's not leaving my care, and so they direct us down the hall, all the time shouting instructions to each other, trying to examine my boy as we move.

Sam whimpers, making me realise that he has regained consciousness since we'd enter the waiting room, but he still remains limp in my arms, small fingers tensing around the frayed edges of the blanket as a doctor leans too close, and he whimpers again, and I pull him closer, murmuring words not even I understand to try and comfort him as we are practically pushed into a small room. It takes a moment of reassuring from the doctors before I allow myself to lower Sam onto the examination table, and I am gently pulled back by a nurse as the doctors pounce forwards, each calling out numbers and instructions to the others.

I freeze, overwhelmed, for a moment, watching the sight in stunned silence, and then I hear that pleading mewl again, and I lunge forwards, push my way through the doctors and wrap my son into my arms as he shivers and tries to pull away from those crowding him.

"Hush Sammy," I whisper, _plead_ into his hair, glaring darkly at the men who have just scared my son "I'm here, kid. Daddy's got you." It takes several minutes, several minutes of constant coaxing before Sam calms, his body again falling limp in my arms, and I clutch him desperately, looking at the doctors around me pleadingly, even though minutes ago I was filled with anger.

I can feel my baby burning up even through my coat.

One doctor steps forwards at my pleading look, takes my son's temperature, and then barks out orders, and soon a nurse is fixing an I.V into Sam's arm, running fingers through his hair, murmuring about the 'poor little mite' I hold in my arms.

The doctor steps up again, taking Sammy's pulse and listening to his chest before he pulls my son from my arms, and the nurse leads me away from where they swarm my son.

x

I sit in the waiting room, nursing my coffee, unaware of the time, until a shout gets my attention, and I stand up in time for Dean to barrel into me.

"Sorry John," Bobby apologises as he walks over "Soon as he woke up he was asking to see Sam." I nod, clutch Dean tightly, tell him that the doctors are looking after Sammy now, that they'll make his brother better, and we'll see him as soon as they can allow us to.

Dean nods, allows me to lead him to the seats, and as I sit beside him I glance to the clock on the wall and notice with surprise that it is almost five am. I have sat here all night.

Dean grins at me from his chair, tugging a bag from his back, and I see that it is the new Thundercats pack that Bobby bought Sam, with the ratty old bear sat snugly inside, so his head and arms are hanging out, and I grin back at my son as he tells me it's a present for Sam.

We sit there for maybe ten minutes when a doctor comes over, calls my name, and I look at him apprehensively as Dean jumps up, and at the man's request we follow him from the waiting room.

"Mr Winchester," he starts once we are led into a corridor, and I explain that it's my son and my brother who tail us, that it's alright to talk in front of them "When you bought Samuel in he was severely dehydrated, and suffering from a high fever. The fever has broken but we're still going to keep him on fluids to combat his dehydration. I'm afraid the break in his arm must have been there for some time as it was already beginning to mend when we attended to it, which meant we had to rebreak the bone before being able to set it correctly," I nod, fighting back the sickness that comes with the thought of them rebreaking Sam's arm. "There was no muscle damage, so after a healing period where he'll have to wear a cast he'll have full use of his arm. For now we're keeping Samuel under constant observation so that we'll know if his fever spikes again and we also need to keep an eye out for any symptoms of an infection. But if you would like to see him…" I nod, smile down at Dean as he takes my hand, and the three of us follow the doctor down the hall to the paediatrics ward.

Sammy is in a private room, and the young nurse who I recognised from earlier is hovering at my son's bedside, checking his fever and the machines that surround the small bed. She steps away as we enter, says something to the doctor as I move forwards, and I stand by my son, looking down onto the relaxed if pale features of my sleeping son.

Dean comes over, clutches at my hand as he calls to Sammy softly, and the doctor steps up and explains that my youngest will sleep for several more hours, that he had been sedated to keep him calm.

I nod, my heart pounding. I know that this means that my baby boy was calling for me, panicked and frightened by the fact that he couldn't find me so soon after I'd rescued him from the attic.

The doctor leaves, telling us that we can have five minutes before someone will be back in to check on Sam, and once he is gone I lift Dean up, set him onto the edge of the bed, and my eldest takes Sam's hand, the one not locked into a neon green cast, and he holds tights as he whispers calmingly to Sam, letting him know that we're here. I lay a hand on Sam's forehead, to reassure myself that he is no longer held by the heat I felt on him earlier, but he is only slightly warm now, and as I run fingers soothingly through his hair I realise that it is no longer hanging in dirty clumps, instead holds the soft wisp of baby growth, and I realise that someone has washed Sam's hair. Washed him, for he is completely clean, smelling of lavender soap I would never allow into the house, and dress in clean white pyjamas. I have no wish to ask what has happened to the clothes he wore before. I will be happy to not see them again. They hold too many memories now.

We sit in the room in silence for three hours. Bobby leaves once, returning with coffee and pre-packed sandwiches from the canteen, and following is Jim, who immediately smiles at me and then quietly informs us that the police have been notified that Sam's been found, that they will be coming to talk to me at around noon, and that the media is being kept at bay for now. I nod, still to stunned to speak. The day is going by in a blur, with me sat at Sam's beside, just watching him and marvelling in the fact that Dean, curled up on his side beside his sleeping brother, clutching his unbroken hand, has returned to his usual cheerful self now that Sammy is beside him.

A knock on the doorframe makes me look up, and I pull myself from the bedside to go to the door, wrap my hand around the wrist of Caleb and drag him down the corridor.

He apologises as soon as we stop walking, says that he's grateful Sammy's back and safe, and informs me that he went to the house that I rescued my son from – though doesn't part with how he knew where it was – and not only salted and burnt the body, but the entire building.

"It's not right to let people move into that place with its memories," is his only explanation, and I think of him and Liam, wonder if Caleb had done the same after they found the younger boy, wonder if Caleb would still be the hunter he is if his brother had not been kidnapped, and that thought makes me inquire, as I look to his swollen and scabbing lip, about the Adlet, and Caleb apologises again for leaving to the hunt, assures me though that the creature is dead, and then adds his reasoning. That he had been climbing the walls more and more the longer Sammy was missing, that he had to go and relieve some of the stress he was feeling. One look at his eyes tells me that Liam's kidnapping had been the starting point for the hunter I see before me today.

I accept his apology, apologise for hitting him, and then lead him back to Sammy's room. Dean beams up at me when we enter, and it takes me only a second to see that my youngest is awake, his casted arm wrapped around that tattered bear, and as soon as he sees me his free hand goes up, begging for a hug that I am only to glad to give him. And as I hold my son close, listen to Jim tell me that we're welcome to stay at his place whilst Sam gets better. Smirk as Caleb ruffles Dean's hair, pulls out a pack of cards, offers to teach my eldest how to play poker and quickly goads Bobby into playing as well, and as the three set up their game, I wonder how unusual a family we seem to people who don't know us, to the doctors and the nurses who are continuously pacing past.

Not exactly the Brady Bunch, you could say, but you'd not achieve that with Hunters.


	7. Epilogue

A/N: The final chapter to this story, and I want to say thanks to everyone who stuck with this and me through to the end. I want to apologise for the late update. We had a family emergency that pushed everything aside, the update for this included.

Epilogue

I sit on the porch of Jim's large house, laboriously copying the lengths of text from one of the Priest's large and ancient books. The type is heavy and in Latin, not one of the easiest things to read, and a hell of a task to understand, but I'm not looking for a translation, there's no need to translate a banishing rite after all. Several books are littered across the table I labour at, each one open to a specific page, each following the same concept of text on protective charms and seals, research that I constantly need to do that is best dealt with at either Bobby's or Jim's, owing to the large numbers of text each has on the subject. One of the books shows a picture of a kelpie, and beside it is a crude crayon picture, coloured in oranges, blues and greens, and my youngest son's name printed carefully beneath.

A sudden shriek cuts through the air, and makes my head fly up, and I relax to see Dean, grinning from ear to ear and tugging at a giggling Sam's arm as they dive behind a large bush before Caleb can catch hold of them.

It has been two weeks since we found Sam, ten days since we have been able to leave the hospital and the town without being accosted by police or media.

Sam is healing, the scratches and bruises mere shadows, the cast shielding the break the only physical memory to what has happened. And though his body heals swiftly, I know it will be some time, if ever, before Sam heals fully. Although he is all grins and smiles as he evades a tickle attack from Caleb, he clings tightly to us, Dean, and myself, wide eyes begging not to be left alone, whenever he is left unoccupied, whenever his mind is allowed to wander, and his nights are frequently disturbed by nightmares that send him crying for the security of both his brother and myself.

Jim sits down on a chair beside me, holds out a small sheet of paper, and I glance over it briefly before handing it back, tell him he can get someone else to handle it. My eyes flick back to the pages of text around me, to me own handwriting in my journal and the way it has grown sloppy and shaky over the past few sentences, and I set the pen down, rise to my feet with a smile, and go over to aid Caleb with his attempt to catch my sons.

The hunt can wait a while, the boys and I will stay here until Jim kicks us out, until Sammy is well again.

And it will be sometime before I will let my boys out of my sight.


End file.
